


drunk mind, sober heart

by dreamember



Series: texts from last night [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Texts From Last Night, in which drunk seth types like drunk me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5267429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamember/pseuds/dreamember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(414): I thought since you asked to see my dick I might as well say hi</p>
<p>Set after the 26.10.15 episode of RAW</p>
            </blockquote>





	drunk mind, sober heart

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago, and just found it in my folder. I've not been able to go through and edit it, figured I'd better get it up before tonight's PPV!

They only have each other to wait for after shows. Because of this, the moment Roman had finished showering the layer of sweat from his skin (but not the glow that the win has left, nor the bright smile), Dean had pulled his brother – _the number one contender_ – from the arena and bundled him into the car before he drove them back to the hotel with a matching smile.

"Gotta celebrate man," Dean had grinned as he left his bags on the bed, "gotta go and have a drink, at least! You're the number one contender! First round's on me!" He'd heard Roman sigh, but it wasn't the kind of sigh he'd grown up knowing, it was a fond sigh, a _what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you?_ sigh. It always makes Dean so giddy, even now. Just to know that there's someone who doesn't see him as a nuisance, someone that loves him for who he is and without expecting him to change.

"Fine. Just one drink though."

* * *

_'Just one drink',_ as it always does, quickly turned into _'just one more',_ then _'go on, another won't do any harm'_ , and _'last one ok?'_ At some point during the night Roman stops protesting, the outcome inevitable regardless, and _he_ starts suggesting more drinks. Dean doesn't stop him. He loves Roman, completely and unreservedly, but sometimes he wishes the man would be a bit more spontaneous.

Sure, they've shut down bars and had amazingly wild nights, but it always depends on circumstance. _How long do we have to travel tomorrow? What time do we have to be up? Are we likely to be needed a lot on Smackdown? We went out last week, we shouldn't have another one like that for a while, we can do that next week._ Whereas Dean just likes to go with the flow, see where the night takes them.

Should Roman decide to leave early, there’s no reason why Dean couldn’t go ahead on his own, he has done before, but it’s _just not the same_.

And contrary to popular belief, it’s not because they're _involved_ in any way that extends past simple friendship. Of course, to the outsiders, Dean can see why people would get the wrong idea. Especially when they're sitting in the bar, Dean's hand on Roman's thigh, leaning to close to the older man that when Dean says something that makes Roman laugh, Roman doesn't have to do much to push his forehead against Dean's.

Truthfully, he’d be a liar if he suggested they’d never been involved with each other. There was a time when this intimacy _did_ stem from a deeper relationship, albeit a relationship which was more ‘ _best friends with benefits’_ than _committed lovers,_ but they still had Something. In some ways, that Something never faded into distant memory alongside late-night rendezvous, but now it’s just… normal, it’s just a thing that they do. It doesn’t mean anything and they both know that.

Not everybody knows that, though. Including the pair of eyes that Dean can feel burning into him. Or at least, they don’t know that for sure. Dean and Roman had ended their arrangement when Dean and Seth had become _Dean-and-Seth._ Together. _Committed lovers_. Everyone was cool with the history. When they said there was nothing more to it than simply seeking the warmth of someone else, Seth believed them. He _trusted_ them. Still, Dean purposefully tried to put some distance between himself and Roman, not wanting Seth to ever get the wrong impression, not wanting to hurt Seth.

So of course, he really should have seen it coming. He’d been so concerned about _him_ being the one to hurt Seth, _him_ being the one to ruin it all, _him_ being the heartbreaker. His concern led to him boxing any fears of _him_ being the one to get hurt away in the back of his mind. (Because Seth wouldn’t do that, not _his_ Seth. Seth was the best thing to ever happen to him, the light in his life and the warmth settling in his cold heart. _Was._ ) And those fears stayed there until the first strike of cool, hard steel against his best friend’s back. Until the look in Seth’s eyes took his breath away all over again, only this time for all the wrong reasons.

“You alright, Dee?” Roman asks, almost hesitantly. The gentle voice breaks Dean from his inner-thoughts and he forces himself to school whatever expression is causing Roman’s concern.

“Yeah, mind just slipped. Sorry man. What were you saying? You want me to get another round in?” He’s burning still, the stare of those eyes unrelenting, so he curls his hand further around Roman’s thigh and licks his lips. All Roman does is smile. He wants to kiss it for all the wrong reasons.

“Guessin’ you’ve seen him too then?”

“Yeah. Wanna give him a show?”

“Dean.” Roman’s voice is full of warning but also pity. He hates that the other man can just say his name and it resonates as a whole lecture in his mind, one that he can’t argue with at all. Strangely, since they stopped fucking (and then stopped fighting), they’ve become better friends, better _brothers_. He can’t risk all of that just because, what? He wants to make his ex jealous? Make him rue the day he left their relationship like road-kill at the wayside on the road to glory? He shouldn’t still be hung up on it. It’s been over a year.

(But it’s also almost been 3 years since they debuted. Almost 3 years since the first time he looked at Seth and could only think  _I want your face to be the first thing I see every morning for the rest of my life and then some._ )

“Sorry, you’re right. Wasn’t thinking... sorry.” Dean mutters. He drops his gaze and makes to move away, but Roman quickly places his hand on the back of Dean’s neck to stop him.

“Don’t apologise. Don’t ever apologise for that, and don’t beat yourself up for it. There’s some things in life you can’t just switch off and I don’t expect how you feel for him to be one of them,” Roman knocks their heads together again, pressing so close Dean can feel a nose up against his own. It settles a part of him, the comfort and closeness. But it disrupts another. The part of him that aches for _that_ nose… for _those_ eyes, “I’m going up. You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah.” It’s weak, something off in his tone, but Roman takes his word and nod. As lips come to rest against his temple, Dean closes his eyes and listens to the quiet goodbyes and urges to stay safe, before he’s left alone.

Alone, if he forgets about those eyes.

But as he drains the vodka sitting at the bottom of his glass, the burn sliding down the back of his throat is incomparable to the way his skin burns. After paying off the remainder of the tab (making note to call Roman out on the fact he’s paid most of it even though Dean had said he’d pay it all) he shrugs on his jacket and flies out of the bar. His desperation to escape overpowers the desire to not let on how affected he is, and thankfully the alcohol dampens the blow to his pride. Slightly. And only for now.

* * *

Gazing up at the ceiling with a racing mind, Dean curses himself for falling from the wagon. Tossing and turning for what feels like hours, he considers making his way back down to the bar. Maybe he can drink himself to sleep. Or maybe he could call Roman. If he mopes enough, maybe he could get a pity fuck. Or they could just make-out for a while, he isn’t fussy. There’s an itch he can’t scratch by himself – it’s screaming out for another body (or a bottle)…

Mercifully, he is dragged from the dangerous path his thoughts are heading. His phone flashes, illuminating the room and startling Dean into a string of curses as he tries to blink the sight back into his eyes. There’s only a handful of people that have his number, and most of them are the suits that say it’s obligatory, so as he reaches for the device, his expectations don’t extend past Roman, most likely checking up on him like the mother hen he is.

Another text flashes up as he picks it up. Dean sighs, squinting at the phone until his eyes have adjusted to the brightness, and until Dean sees a number that hasn’t appeared on his screen in a long time.

**2 new messages from _Catwoman._**

He almost drops the phone.

After… That Night, Dean had hovered over ‘ _delete contact’_ for hours. Days, even. He had every intention, but simply couldn’t bring himself to take that final step. It felt final, like it was real, like he really had lost his best friend, his first and only true love. He _had_ lost him, of course he knew that, but deleting him completely? No. Dean couldn’t do it, and Roman understood.

(Truthfully, Dean doesn’t think Roman ever brought himself to delete the contact either.)

Dean couldn’t look at his name, though. It hurt to even say it. He ran through a list of possible aliases, and eventually settled on _Catwoman_. He’d meant for it to be malicious, but no words ever seem to lack the fondness that was more closely associated with their playful teasing. Call it a bad habit he just can’t kick.

He’d never expected it to appear on his screen again, though. Never thought that number would be contacting him before a reconciliation of some kind that encouraged him to change it back. But here he is. Unlocking his phone and gazing at the screen.

Whatever his expectations are, the messages don’t meet them. Not for the first time tonight, he’s thrown for a loop without any prior warning.

**I miss yiu**

**No i miss yiorur dick**

Dean stares at the phone. Blinks once, twice, three times. Before he can even surmount any form of response for his evidently highly intoxicated ex, his phone buzzes twice more.

**Sme thing**

**Fuxk yuo**

He sighs. A dangerous concoction of exasperation, unknowingness, hesitation and dare he say fondness. Dropping the phone into his lap he scrubs a hand roughly over his face, deliberating what he wants to do, but not failing to consider what would be the _right_ thing to do. The concept of the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other, is one very familiar to Dean, and tonight is no different.

What makes his decision even more difficult is that both of the bastards are putting forward strong cases that he’s struggling to argue against.

With the phone in his grasp again, he forces himself to do the _right_ thing. Unfortunately, it doesn’t give Dean the desired opportunity to exit the conversation, as the responses are almost automatic in a way that Dean might even accuse of being subconscious.

A drunk mind speaks a sober heart and all that, or however it goes.

**You’re drunk, Rollins. Go to bed.**

**I delted all yoir dick pics snd me more**

**I’m not sending you any photos of my damn dick.**

**Why :(** **  
**

**You know why. Go to sleep before you say something you’ll regret.**

**Too lte for that**

**What do you mean? Too late for what?**

**I’m not in the mood for your games, Rollins.**

Ordinarily, his first port of call would be Roman. The older man is always the best person to go to for advice regardless of the situation, and he’s the only one that Dean would trust to have his best intentions at heart, rather than encouraging him into a situation for predominantly selfish reasons.

But Roman’s asleep, no doubt. With his own room because the only rooms left were singles, and after a trial run they discovered that the beds weren’t big enough to share. (Although he’s almost entirely certain that on the second time, Roman _deliberately_ pushed him out of the bed.)

His phone back on the bedside table, he tries not to dwell on the strange conversation.

_Tries._ But he _tried_ giving up alcohol a couple years ago after waking up with an excruciating hangover, but. Well, tonight is proof that _trying_ doesn’t always count for much success.

In a matter of moments (moments of madness he might call them in the morning) he’s managed to throw his clothes back on and is making his way down to the hotel lobby where a young blonde sits, offering him a smile that doesn’t look entirely trusting. He can’t blame her, really. He probably looks like the last person you’d trust in the swanky hotel the company has them staying in.

“Hi, I was wondering if you’d be able to give me a spare key to my boyfriend’s room. I just got up there and realised I don’t have a spare, and I don’t wanna wake him this late.” Dean smiles, hoping it will soften her disbelieving expression. He watches as she hesitates, and sighs internally, beginning to draw the wallet from his pocket before she even begins to speak.

“Sir, I’m not sure, I’m not supposed to—”

He slides $50 across the desk (a part of his mind questioning whether he’s really worth this much effort and money) and smiles, “please. His name’s Seth Rollins, got a couple strands of blonde from where he’s growing out a blonde patch he decided to get a couple years back. He wanted to stand out or something but now he thinks it’s stupid. I kinda really liked it actually but– ah, uh, sorry. Rambling.”

The girl’s smiling at him now, though, and she offers him the key, “your eyes light up when you talk about him y’know. It’s cute.”

In the elevator up to the room on the card, he tries not to dwell too much on what she said.

Again, he _tries._

* * *

Dean can’t help but hesitate as he reaches to insert the key card. There’s no sound coming from inside the room, and for a moment he almost convinces himself that if he enters it’s going to be empty and he’s best off taking this opportunity to turn around and go back. But he stays. This is an opportunity that isn’t likely to present itself again – the chance to  _enjoy_ Seth’s company again. Albeit with the other being intoxicated, but he isn’t in the position to turn anything down.

Upon entering the room, he immediately notices Seth asleep (or passed out) on the bed, still fully dressed. Before he’s able to register his own movements, he finds himself crouched down at the side of the bed, staring at the fact he once knew so well. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind Seth’s ear out of habit more than anything but, uncharacteristically, the gentle movement causes brown eyes to flutter open.

He’s regarded with confusion, before the other whispers, “what’re you doing here?”

“I thought since you asked to see my dick I might as well say hi,” He replies, smiling as Seth lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, “so you gonna tell me what’s wrong? Why you’re suddenly missing me?”

“Missing your dick,” Seth corrects with a murmur. Dean raises an eyebrow at the younger man, and grins as he hears a sigh, “I just… fuck, I-I guess I just didn’t realise it’d be so lonely at the top.”

And that… _that_ Dean wasn’t expecting. Dean is all too aware of the gaze on him as he stands to full height, kicking off his shoes, and smiles at the questioning noise as Dean pushes Seth to the middle of the bed. His mind is screaming at him, positively fuming, reminding him that when Seth sobers up this will be over, that he shouldn’t be getting himself attached to Seth all over again when he’s worked so hard to get over him.

His heart, however, is tripping over itself as Dean lies down and wraps his arms around the only man he ever gave _everything_ to.

“So when you said it’s too late…”

“I’ve already said things I’ll regret. Don’t regret what I’ve done, I just-”

“So we were more than just your business partners?”

“You _know_ you are,” Seth says, slipping a leg between Dean’s. Dean is still stuck on the use of ‘are’ when Seth begins again, “shouldn’t have ever doubted that.”

“Bit hard when you’re doubting everything,” Dean reminds him. Seth mutters something under his breath, but it doesn’t sound like it was important, so Dean presses on, “are you gonna regret this?”

“Probably… are you?”

“Depends how you react when you’re sober again.” Silence fills the room, save for the sound of feet stomping along the floor above and Seth taking several breaths as if he’s building the courage to say something.

What he eventually comes out with is no surprise, “Ro won’t be mad at me? Saw you two in the bar… looked cosy.”

“We’re not together,” Dean admits, “agreed it’s best for our friendship to not go down that road. Lost one friend after a relationship, don’t wanna lose another.”

“’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Let’s not do this tonight. Might as well make the most of whatever this is, c’mon, you can’t sleep like this.”

It seems as if the moment Seth stands up, his soberness slips to his feet. As Dean goes to remove Seth’s shoes and socks, Seth decides to take it upon himself to remove his shirt, only to get himself tangled and wait for Dean’s eventual rescue. The removal of Seth’s jeans proves to be an awkward encounter, the position of Dean on his knees in front of Seth an all too familiar one, but they both stay silent despite the tell-tale tint to their cheeks. He then ushers Seth back into bed and begins to strip himself down, making attempts to ignore the way his body wants to react to the familiar feeling of Seth watching him undress, before slipping under the sheets.

Immediately, Seth is curling up against his side and settling down for the night. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Seth’s been waiting for a chance to do this again.

With the bed’s other occupant drifting to sleep, he reaches for his phone, glad he had the foresight to leave it on the bedside table, and taps out a new message.

**Done something I might regret in the morning.**

**Just to warn you.**

Much to Dean’s surprise, he doesn’t have to wait all too long for his brother to reply. It has Dean wondering whether he _should’ve_ asked for his advice before diving head-first into this, but he’s in the deep-end now, just barely treading water and he won’t drown.

**That sounds ominous. What’ve you done?**

**Gone back to something I promised I’d never go to again.**

**Should I be worried? Are you going to be ok?**

It isn’t difficult to read the real question hidden between the lines: _will I have to put you back together again like I did over a year ago?_ Every single day since he was left heartbroken, Roman has been there. Despite everything Dean did and said during the initial aftermath, and months after, he never failed. Not once.

Meanwhile Dean is falling off the bandwagon with such ease he’s beginning to doubt he was ever back _on_ it.

**Maybe. I don’t know. I’ll answer that in the morning.**

**Hope you’re not disappointed.**

**Never, Uce. I trust you.**

**I’ll be here if you wanna talk about it.**

With that assurance, Dean places the phone back on the bedside table and focuses his attention back on the body beside him. It’s been a long time since he’s had a nose tucked into his neck, since there’s been toes curled against his shin and a hand on his waist.

“Quit starin’ ‘n go to sleep.” It’s been a long time since he’s had that voice scolding him for being awake.

“Not starin’.  I’m just…”

“Yeah, I know. Me too,” He can feel a smile being pressed against his skin, and he wonders if Seth _does_ know. He isn’t even sure he knows himself. This night has spiraled out of control, exceeding anything he ever anticipated, “I missed you. Even if I won’t let myself admit it sober.”

“I missed you too… and your dick.”

The last thing he hears as he succumbs to the call of sleep is the sound of Seth’s gentle laughter in his ear, as if the last year never happened.

And even if the morning brings the reset button on Seth’s animosity, Dean has something new to cherish and hold close to his heart, and a reminder to never take simple nights like this for granted again.


End file.
